


Happily Ever After

by OneTrueStudent



Series: Sketches [4]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 01:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14485401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneTrueStudent/pseuds/OneTrueStudent
Summary: Sequel to Bedtime Stories





	Happily Ever After

Prologue

Before Mom came in to read our bedtime story, I caught her in the Family Room and told her what I wanted for my birthday.

“Mom, my birthday’s coming up,” I said.

“I know, Mara. You’re going to be seven. That’s a lot.”

“I know,” I said. I’d been thinking about seven. It is a lot. “And I’ve been very good.”

“Oh, have you?” asked Mom blandly.

“Yes,” I said. Sometimes you need to toot your own horn. “I’ve been extra good.”

“Possibly,” said Mom.

“I know what I want for my birthday,” I told her.

“Oh, is that where this is going?” she said quietly. She did not look surprised.

“Yes. I only want one thing. Will you promise me you’ll get it for me?”

Mom hissed. “Mara. Sweetie. Things are a little hard right now. You just got a new brother, Daren, and he’s an awfully big birthday present.”

“Mom, a new brother is not a new birthday present,” I said quickly. “Even though I do like him. He’s very nice.”

“Yes, sweetie, but things are tight-”

“Please, Mom?” I begged.

“Mara-”

Mom was sitting on the couch facing the TV, but the TV was off. She was reading a book with a hard red cover and lettering in gold. I hopped up on the couch with her, and leaned into her side.

“Please, Mom?”

“Mara, sweetie, I just don’t know. I mean, I promise I’ll try, but-”

“You promise you’ll try!?” I yell-asked. She had said it!

“I- ah...” Mom hissed again, and groaned slowly and hard. She looked pained. “I did say that.”

“You did! I heard it! You promised you’ll try!” I repeated fast, before she could forget the words were said.

“Well, yes, I- Sweetie, I can’t promise you’ll get what you want, and I’m sorry. But I did say I’ll try, so I’ll try. What do you want?”

“A bazooka.”

Mom didn’t say anything for five, maybe ten seconds.

“What.” Mom said. It wasn’t a question.

“I want a bazooka. Calvin had one in Dad’s story and he really liked it, so I want one too. A real one.”

“Mara, why do you want a bazooka?”

I had just answered that! But she wasn’t listening. I changed my tact. “Mom, things are hard. You know how hard they are. A girl needs a bazooka! You know that.” That was really clever. It would get her on my side.

“No, I don’t. You don’t need a bazooka. You’re six!”

“But I’m going to be seven in two Thursdays!”

“You still don’t need a bazooka!” yelled Mom. She got up and moved away from me on the couch. “You know what, this is your father’s problem. Go ask him for a bazooka.”

“But Mom, Dad’s in the Den yelling about the Federal Reserve! He won’t give anyone anything when he’s yelling about the Federal Reserve!”

“That’s truth,” admitted Mom. “But times are hard. The Federal Reserve is hard. Bazookas are your father’s problem. Go ask him.” She shook her book at me and went back to reading. 

“Fine!” I said, and hopped off the couch. I had to turn my back to her to go down the Littler Stairs to the Living Room, which was one the way to the Den, but I turned my back on her Extra Hard. I turned so hard I limped!

“You’re not trying very hard, Mom!” I declared and went looking for Dad.

The Den was a small room under the Parents’ Room upstairs. It could only be reached by going through the Living Room which had the nice couch we couldn’t sit on, but also had the fireplace which sometimes Dad used. The Littler Stairs were right next to the High Stairs which lead upstairs and they went the same way, but one went down and one went up. The High Stairs had seventeen steps, and the Littler Stairs had three. I walked along the wall and turned right, past a little closet without a name that had the sloping roof under the High Stairs, and past the door that only went to the Downstairs Bathroom and the Den. The Laundry Room was past both, but nothing went too the Laundry Room. It was just there.

Inside the Den Dad was reading The Economic Consequences of the Peace, and grumbling angrily while he tapped a pen on his desk. He had bitten the pen-top until it would never fit on the pen again. I was a little scared, but I walked right up to him.

“Dad,” I said and put my hand on his knee.

He paused with a grumble still in his mouth but didn’t utter it. Instead he asked, “Eh, squirt?”

“Mom says you need to buy me a bazooka.”

Dad stared at me as long as Mom had, then folded his book and stuck the pen in it to keep his place. “I doubt that very much.”

“I asked her. It’s what she said!”

“Mara, I’m going to level with you. If you want a bazooka, there’s only one way to get it. Grow up and join the army, just like everyone else.”

“Everyone else has a bazooka!?” yelled Calvin from the doorway.

I whirled! I hadn’t even known he was there!

“No, but those that do,” said Dad, and he shot Calvin with finger-bazooka-guns.

“Mom, Dad said I can have a bazooka!” yelled Calvin, and he bolted for the Family Room.

“I did not say that!” yelled Dad. 

“You kinda did!” I told him.

“Maybe you should kinda get ready for bed,” suggested Dad.

“I kinda shouldn’t,” I replied, and I ran after Calvin. 

Mom stormed past me toward the Den. I heard her ask, “What manner of nonsense are you telling the kids?” before I got away, because oh boy, were they about to talk about personal responsibility.

That left me and Calvin together, and together we came up with a plan. We needed bazookas, and it was time we came up with a scheme to get them.


End file.
